Resistance is that force in you that throws rebellious tantrums, whispers sweet self-critical nothings in your ear (or screams them in your face like a drunken guy at the bus stop), keeps you stuck in self-destructive habits, and glues your ass to the chair when you know you should get up and do something.

Having passed through the abundant harvest of my juicy, fruitful celebration of 40, I’m now freezing at the threshold of the dark winter of Coming To Terms With Aging. I never expected this. I always thought I’d sail through this part, barely stepping on the universe’s Life Change Lintel as I breezed through the portal into midlife.

If you lost everything in the apocalypse, how might you end up freer? What would be in the boxes that would be jettisoned? What imaginary authority figure or judge would catch fire and be destroyed? What bullshit could YOU throw out in 2013 to free up some mental health, and why?

The first rule of fast club is: Don’t talk about fast club. The second rule of fast club is that skinny guys no longer get to tell me what to do. (Although I love you guys. You look so cute with your pants falling down!)

The late 30s and 40s are a time of great power for women. Declining hormones tear veils away from our eyes. It is the beginning of when we learn to get over the crap we’ve been spoon-fed, to feel some rumbling righteous anger, and start loving ourselves.